Dear RLH,
Dear Thrill Hill,
Dear King Hill,
My old friend. I know you’re able to read this. I’m sure you are already having some sway up there.
This is a tribute to you from me, Clay, from the hood.
Even before I got my Schwinn, the few blocks separating us was nothing. I could walk up to your house in no time and you to mine no matter what the weather was like. We would tromp around through frozen ditches in our rubber boots and heavy coats or hike around barefoot on hot oil-topped roads. Dot and Orville were like another set of parents to me as my mother was to you. I remember.
We walked or road our bikes to elementary school at Valley View where we played our days away either on the baseball field all summer long on weekends or at football practice where I know you would “accidentally” run into the girls during their P.E. We all knew it was intentionally but didn’t care. You were “King” Hill from early on even in third grade, and we all loved you for it.
We were from opposite ends, you and I when it came to sports. You were a gifted natural athlete but stubbornly believed that with enough practice and encouragement, I could be, too. Not close. Your dad hit us endless ground balls and we practiced hoops until I could hit free throws. Except when it came down to making the basketball team. You persuaded me to attend practice anyway, and despite it being tough on my pride, I went along. We were brothers from the hood and that’s what you did. You rooted for each other.
Well, somehow that landed me with a number on a jersey and a pair of trunks. It was the last thing I expected, but I was beginning to learn that you had more influence and charisma than I had ever recognized before, and I still believe to this day you pulled that off with the coaches, even as a young kid. I remember.
Going into junior high meant meeting all the Bramlette girls and that way, widened our perimeter for mischief beyond the streets of the old hood. It also meant you meeting the one you never stopped loving, too. Looking back on it then, breaking curfews, sneaking out, venturing beyond our boundaries, seems so innocent compared to now. And speaking of sneaking out, say hello to Pruett for me, will you?
We played and grew together from Valley View to Forest Park, to LHS and then the end when you and the Swede went off to serve your country. I didn’t love the war in Vietnam but I loved you. Thank you for your service, my old friend. I remember.
From the days of Strato-matic and wiffle ball, and backyard golf to the days of sharing girl troubles, of Elvis, Spin-the-Bottle and “Terror” parties to double-dating in your cherry red Chevy Impala, here’s to a classy king and King of our class. So many fond memories of you.
Thank you for all those and so many more, old friend. To you, Sir, with love.
Clay
See you again.
